Bloody Tears and Cracking Walls
by gylfie9
Summary: One of them is captive in a their own land, blocked by evil walls of concrete.  The other is invisible, and never noticed.  Russia wishes to keep Prussia under his thumb and Canada isn't so happy about it.  PruCan  Rating may change.
1. Chapter 1

**A/N So I finally written a PruCan fic after reading the paring for so long. meh. Alright so I'll try to keep this short cause I know none of you want to read these things they call Authors Notes anyway... Getting back to what I wanted to say this is a spin off thing from my NaNoWriMo, something I will post eventually after I finnish and edit it with equal amounts of coffee and lack of sleep as it took to write, and it is my first real attempt to write a historical fiction story. (Taking place after the creation of the Berlin Wall.) So if I make any mistakes regarding the history in that time period notify me and I will do my best to change it. Also I'm using Google Translate for all the French and German (do I have german in here?) that is in this story, except for the very limited vocabulary of French that I have gotten from my French 1 class at school. If there are any gapping mistakes in these parts feel free to review or pm me. That's all I really have to say so enjoy.**

**Disclaimer: I do not own Hetalia Axis Powers. I'm not even Japanese.**

**edit: 3/10/12**

**I'm in the process of going through my story and editing it. So this is the edited version of the first chapter.  
>Much thanks must be given to my new awesome beta LilacsAndVelvet for help with this. <strong>

"Stop! Just stop," I can't stand it anymore, it's tearing me apart. Why can't it just end?

Those cold violet eyes and heartless laugh haunt me; haunt me when the sun is above my head and while I am trying to sleep. My fears cause me to wake up shivering in a cold sweat, screaming my lungs out. I'm falling apart, fighting to break free, I am a caged bird who longs for the sky. My people are restless too, I can feel it. I can feel the wariness, the anxiety; it's pounding in my veins.

Through the small window, in the room that has become my prison, I see an arc of light flash across the sky.

'_Make a wish.' _Elizaveta's voice rings in my head.

'_I wish I could leave this place. I wish someone would rescue me.' _It's horridly selfish, and just so unrealistic. In the time I've spent here I've come to realize how much the little things really matter. If any of my wishes were granted, they would be used on the little things I should cherish. I'm so desperate, just so desperate, what I wouldn't do for just a tiny speck of luck.

_"I wish I could see, mein bruder Ludwig, again. To whoever reviews these wishes, I would like to see the Canadian man I met a while before, as well." _

* * *

><p>"Arrêt Ivan. Arrêt!"<p>

Violet eyes lock with the same, familiar violets of the other, Ivan couldn't help but chuckle as Matthew glared at him.

"S'il vous plaît, Russe." The Canadian's pleading French words pleased Ivan to no end.

"_You have taken a liking to him. Da?"_

The Canadian's eyes hardened. "Ferme la bouche!" He snapped.

The Russian man was chuckling deeply now. _It is just so fun to wind up Kanada, Da?_

* * *

><p>"Bruder!"<p>

His fists pounded against the stone, as if he thought the weakening rapping on the wall would cause it to crumble, and fall.

"Bruder! Westen! Bruder!"

His cries were frantic now, tears spilling over onto pale cheeks. A week! He had been gone a week. Out of nowhere this thing, this mass of concrete, was stopping him from seeing his family, his brother, his friends: Ludwig, Lizzy, Francis, Toni, Roddy... He would probably never get see them again. He slumped down against the wall, knees curled into his chest and sighed. The small iron cross that he always wore slipped out from underneath his leather jacket.

_Gone_ everything was gone. His life was being torn into shreds around him, yet there was not a thing he could do about it. He was powerless, trapped, and slowly being broken. He was a caged bird, a bird trapped in a land that wasn't home. Why couldn't one of the Soviet soldiers come and shoot him? If he was going to be trapped here, was there a reason to be living?

"H-Hey." A soft voice breathed to his right. Crimson eyes immediately shot open to take in his surroundings. He had been here Gott knows how long, wallowing in his own self-pity. In front of him was an angel peering at him over rectangular framed glasses. "Are you alright?" This time, he could tell that the voice came from the figure in front of him.

"Am I dead?" Everything around him looked to be blanketed in a white mist; the angel in front of him offered a hand, one that he took gratefully. Had he finally been set free?

A pair of violet eyes looked at him quizzically. "I don't think so. I'm not dead, and I don't think you are either." His vision cleared, and he saw that wall, that thing that he hated with a burning passion, in his blurred side vision. The figure in front of him was not an angel but merely a man. A man that had by chance come across him in this state. He had no wings, no halo, so naturally, he could not be dead. "Come." His hand was tugged on lightly, making him take an uneasy step forward. "Let's get you out of here before any of the guards come."

* * *

><p>At last they had reached the shelter of the buildings; great mountains of limestone and brick looming over them. It was then that the man, who he had just met, took his chance to scold him. "What were you doing there? You could have been killed!" Purpled orbs squinted at him but they were not full of anger like the voice would have suggested, but merely fear. Could it be for him?<p>

He shrugged. "What if I wanted to..?" He left the question hanging but it was clear what he had been asking. While the other man stared at him in disbelief, he took this chance to take in the appearance of the man who had probably saved his life (for better of for worse). Shoulder length strawberry blond hair framed his small face. A few wayward strands sticking out from the side, one even in the shape of a strange looking curl. Piercing violet eyes hid behind rectangular glasses, and a heavy tan, fur line coat draped across his shoulders.

"What happened?" The voice was quieter than it had been before, barely above a whisper.

"I woke up and went to go see my brother, and it was just there. Just there standing in my way." His voice was breaking and he heard it. He was barely able to make out the words, because stating the facts meant he had to except that it had happened.

"You're one of the lucky ones." The look in the other's eyes was so melancholy, so full of sadness that he got the impression that the man was talking about himself. "At least you actually live here." He didn't want to pry, but it was obvious that in this moment, everything was better left unsaid.

"So you live in the west side?"

He shook his head. "No I'm from Canada. I was visiting my brother in the American section when I got stuck on this side when the wall was put up." He looked at the other, but he didn't even seem fazed, almost as if he had gotten over this fact long ago. Like the man had just _accepted_ the fact that he couldn't get home or see his family. As for him, he couldn't imagine ever coming to terms with that. He just..couldn't.

He supposed in a way this man did have it worse than him, separated from his family and everything he called home. He couldn't imagine ever having to live like that, yet here he was, separated from his friends and family himself. Life was just like that, he mused. Throwing things at you, things that you never thought you could live through and yet you had no choice but to take what you are given. He took pity on the one who had pulled him away from the wall, away from his own self-pity. "Come on, you can stay at my place for now."

It was then he realized that he didn't even know the other's name. Somehow he felt familiar, like he had known the other from some time in his past. He supposed it was entirely possible that they had met in passing. Perhaps they had met at some sort of event somewhere. A short fleeting moment of eye contact or something, but he felt like he had a conversation with the man, A meaningful one at that. He just couldn't seem to place it. He knew it had happened but he couldn't remember where and why. Perhaps it was just déjà vu, his brain trying to comfort him by implying that he had connection with a stranger, with this stranger.

"Do I know you?" Despite the fact that it was pounding in his head, begging him to find out, he felt so strange when he had finally asked it, as if he was opening the door to making things awkward between them. Like he was opening the box to see if Schrodidnger's cat was still alive, and even if he know the odds are against it his hut was telling him the opposite. Well the only thing he could do now was wait and find out. Dear Gott he hated waiting. Oh well patience was a virtue, they said. It was just too bad he lacked it.

"I don't think so... I've never really been to Germany before. You seem familiar though." Oh well then. The silence that settled itself between them was awkward to say in the least. Hanging heavy like a thick mist; Impenetrable and deep, weighing everything down. He felt like he could swing a sword through it, slicing it in half, and it would feel like his arms were swimming in putty. He wasn't the only one who felt like that, that was a good thing, Right? Or maybe the other was just saying that to make it less awkward between them. Either way, it hadn't helped their situation.

"Oh, okay then. Um... uh well I don't really know what to call you. Er..." His voice was unstable, unsure how to continue. He didn't want to dig into the other's privacy.

"Oh yeah, I haven't introduced myself. Well, je m'appelle Matthieu." He looked at the other in confusion. It wasn't that he didn't understand that small amount of French, just that he hadn't been expecting the other to start speaking in it. He seemed to realize that he had switched into another language, "Oops. Sorry. I tend to switch into French sometimes without thinking, Just a habit. My father was french, so it was spoken at home. Um.. well, my name is Matthew. Matthew Williams."

"The name's Gil." He replied. "Though, some call me Gilbert. Gilbert Beilschmidt." He felt weird, now that the other knew his name, he should probably be calling Matthew now, but "The other" worked too, he reasoned.

Matthew looked at him confused. Finally realizing what he had agreed to. "I don't have to stay with you if you don't want me to. I'll be perfectly fine on my own." Taking another look at him he could tell that Matthew wouldn't be fine on his own. He was lost in city he didn't know his way around, with no way to get back to his family. Even before the wall had been put up, actually, he didn't know when it had been put up; he had stayed inside the last couple days. Soviet guards had patrolled the eastern side of the city. Matthew would get into trouble, deep trouble if caught.

At least if he was with Gilbert he would have a chance, a chance at survival.

"It's nothing. It's the least I can do. Anyway, the awesome me has been wanting some company for a while. So, you will be doing me a favor anyway. I could use some human interaction, it's not like I'll be seeing my friends and/or brother anytime soon." He was doing what he had said he couldn't imagine doing. Talking about a thing that he didn't want to accept... talking about not being able to see his family. That's when he fell apart, truly crying for the first time in years. Tears streamed down his face, releasing as if a dam had just crumbled. He hated himself when he was like this. It made him weak, it made him human. It was at times like these that he wished he could pull off his brother's emotionless facade. Not sad, not angry, not caring, just watching, just waiting. His brother was an expert at that and he teased him about it daily. Now though, he wished he could be like that too; not showing weakness in front of this stranger. Although maybe, just maybe he could be himself around someone, someone who liked him for himself, whether or not he was an emotional wreck at the time.

He would like that. He really would.

If this man, who he had just met could be that person? Well, then Gilbert wouldn't look a gift horse in the mouth. Matthew, as he was called, had already proven that he didn't care if he was an emotional mess. In fact, Matthew hadn't even seen him when he wasn't an emotional wreck so there was no downside. If he was willing to stay at his house after seeing him like this, he doubted he could get much worse, and if he did...Matthew seemed like the person who wouldn't care.

* * *

><p>As he slid the key into the key slot the street was quiet enough that he could hear the small click, signifying that the door had been unlocked. They, as in Matthew and him, had walked the rest of the route to his apartment in utter silence. It might not be much, but it was home and to him that was all that mattered. He voiced these thoughts to Matthew, and the other agreed wholeheartedly being used to a small, almost cottage like, house in Canada. He was right, in reality, his home was nothing much, a small combined living room kitchen area with three doors leading to two bedrooms and a shared bathroom. The room facing towards the east, was his own. The one in the middle was the bathroom, and the one facing the west on the far right was his guest room. It was surprisingly clean for him being him, but that was most likely a side effect of the fact that was where his brother slept when he had visited. Ludwig was probably the most organized person anyone could ever, andor will ever, meet.

As he led Matthew into his flat, he realized just how much of a mess his living room actually was. He had been house bound the last couple days and had not been expecting anyone over in a while. In the corner, a bird cage had been stashed. Thrown haphazardly over it was a sheet; the ones used to trick birds into believe it was night. Littered all over but mostly conjoined on the coffee table were bottles of beer. That was only just the beginning of the mess. He showed Matthew to the spare room, and after telling him 'If you need anything, just ask.'

He ran back to the living room to open the bird cage. The hatch was released and an adorable yellow chick fluttered out. Gilbert ran his fingers through the soft feathers of his winged friend, preening him. Despite everything that was going on around him, Gilbird always managed to make him feel better. "You're a good little bird aren't you?" He cooed. "You'll be wanting some food now, won't you?" And that was the scene that Matthew walked into. If he didn't think Gilbert was strange, well he did now.

Gilbert didn't know this yet, but these were just the beginnings of the days to come. The night would only get darker and darker until dawn came, to shine in its rosy glory, pulling the morning sun from its hiding place, for all to see.

He just didn't know how much worse it could get, but, frankly he didn't want to know.

**A/N Reviews are like an authors coffee, actually both are needed but I digress. I'm in the process of editing the next couple chapters so expect an update soon...ish.**


	2. Chapter 2

**A/N Second chapter yeah! So ten days that's a new record. I'll stop rambling now and let ya-all read, but first...**

**Disclaimer: "I do not own Hetalia Axis Powers" Done! does that satisfy ye lawyers that prbly aren't going to read this. Onto the story.**

* * *

><p>He sighed, throwing his head back. He was leaving, Matthew was finally leaving. He had known this day was coming, hadn't he spent the last month or so dealing with the embassies to grant his friend the ability to leave the country and go home. That's when it finally hit him.<p>

His friend was leaving. He was leaving. And he would probably never see him again.

Matthew was probably the only reason he hadn't died and stayed sane, or at least relatively so. The only person who had kept him from going off the deep end these last few months was leaving him all alone in this cruel cold world. "No!" A strangled cry escaped his lips. Quiet and pitiful, yet at the same time ferocious and wild, threatening any who dared cross it. The other man in the room turned and looked at him. Blond hair swinging gently as his head turned. Violet eyes locked with bloody crimson ones and the message that passed between the two was clear to both parties.

"I'm sorry. God Gil I'm so sorry." He truly did sound sorry, Gilbert had to agree, but none the less what was done was done.

"It's not your fault." He said that and he knew it was true, but they both knew that in his heart he didn't quite believe the other wasn't at fault. Gilbert had to concede however that there was nothing wrong with Matthew wanting to go home. He was just jealous, a jealousy that seeped through his veins like poison eating away at him and his brain's rational thinking.

It wasn't fair. It wasn't fair! Alright there, he had said it. It wasn't fair that Matthew got to go home and see his family when he couldn't. When he was trapped in this Gott damned prison. He couldn't leave. He couldn't see his family. He couldn't see his friends. And now his only friend was leaving and getting all the things he had been denied.

He didn't know what had possessed him to say it. It had just come out. "Gott Birdie go. Just go!" And with that Matthew had bounded out of his apartment. Blond hair flying behind him, bag slung over one shoulder, feet pounding against the wooden floor. It was only after the cold draft from the door being slammed that Gilbert realized what had happened, and what he had done. He grabbed the half empty bottle of beer in front of him and chugged the remaining liquid, letting the alcohol seep into his system and make his brain go fuzzy. It was better to forget, he reasoned, then it was to dwell on things right now.

* * *

><p><em>The smell that wafted into his room was a nice one to wake up to. Warm, homey and sweet. It reminded him of the cakes that his mother used to bake as a treat. Freshly warm right out of the oven, perfectly fluffy, so delectable that he could eat an endless amount. Groggily he rolled out of bed, throwing on a pair of jeans and an worn out shirt after remembering that he had a guest.<em>

_ He recoiled at the sight that met him as he stepped out his door. Matthew stood in front of the stove, pan in hand, carefully flipping... Were those pancakes? His eyes light up at the thought. A glance at the clock would have told that it was around ten in the morning. But he had no reason to know the time, and he was too lazy to look at a clock anyway. Wait a second why was Matthew cooking anyway, not that it was unwelcome, but still._

_ The other seemed to have noticed his presence for he spun around frying pan in hand to face him. "Oh hi. I woke up before you so I thought I should make breakfast. I hope you don't mind that I went through your pantry to find the necessary ingredients." He hadn't noticed this that much yesterday but Matthew was rather shy._

_ "No, no. It's alright, fine really." He responded light heartedly. A glance at the golden batter in the pan and his stomach growled in hunger. "Are those pancakes?" Not many knew this and those who did never really had a reason to broadcast it, but he loved pancakes. Not liked, loved as in absolutely adored them. A plate was set in front of him and he dug in with gusto, not willing to leave a single ounce leftover. The smile that had graced his face after eating the first batch was not one that could be easily removed. A"Thanks Birdie, these are awesome!" had been exclaimed. Which is odd because if either of them sounded like a bird it was the one who had cheerfully chirped out that last statement._

* * *

><p>He could feel it pounding, his head he meant. Pounding and throbbing as was usually the after effect of getting plastered. The light streaming through the window did nothing to help only succeeding in making him wince more. He groaned staring around the room as the hazy fog of last night came back to him in gushing waves. Had he really said that? Was he really gone?<p>

Gone... Gone... Gone...

That was all his mind could process at the moment. The flood gates that had been holding back his depression and cold feelings shattered, bringing way to the sadness, anger, and self hatred that had been building up within him. That feeling of helplessness that made him want to curl up into a ball and bawl, sending rivers down the sides of his face and soak his silvery hair with salty liquid. Perhaps it was fitting that meeting Matthew would prevent this and that his leaving would release it. He had always liked when the world was symmetric like that. It gave order to a place that had only ever know chaos. A place that had been born from chaos. For at its heart an explosion is nothing other than chaos. A large amount of chaos.

He couldn't take it anymore. Not the ultimate feeling of failure. Not the voice in his head that kept whispering to him how useless he was. He wanted to ignore them to tell them that they were wrong, but they were getting to him, convincing him that they were right.

As someone who appreciated the symmetry in things he was going to end this thing where it had started. At that place which he hated with all his will. The place he had avoided as much as possible because it hurt looking at it. Just one glance at it and it tore him apart. The place that stood for everything that he wanted nothing to do with. Ostdeutschland was just going to have to live on without him. But before he went he would try, try one more time to tear it down.

And that is how it came to be, fists pounding against the concrete as if it might just break if he stood there long enough. He whacked with all the energy he could muster until long after his hands were bloodied and raw. Finally sinking down to curl against it and wait. Wait for them to come. And for the first time in years tears flowed freely from his bloody eyes.

**A/N Hope you all liked it. Hopefully if all goes well I shall have another chapter for ye soon. Although there are a few other things I am working on at the moment. I also happen to have midterms in two weeks. I really should start actually studying for those... Alas when I finnish editing the next chapter it shall go up, but that might not be for a little while. Cherio~ (Don't forget to leave a review)**


	3. Chapter 3

**A/N I'm re-uploading this chapter because the original one was too short and there was more I wanted to add to it. Sorry for the long delay, but I have been really busy lately between school work, finals, and family matters. However now that summers here I should be able to write more, and thus up-date quicker. We all know I keep saying that so hold me to it. If don't up-date for a while pm me or something... if you want.**

**Also I should say that while this story had been being betaed by the lovely LilacsAndVelvet, this chapter remains un-betaed as FF is being a pain and won't let the files be sent.**

**Lastly... Happy Birthday Canada! Relatedly this day has special meaning for me because it is the anniversary of the day I got into the Hetalia Fandom. Thank you Canada for your WiFi out in the middle of nowhere.**

**Disclaimer: I do not own Hetalia Axis Powers. Nothing's changed.**

"Hey You!" His head shoot up and he looked up at the man dressed in a clean Soviet uniform. One hand held a gun and to other was pointing at him. Was this it? It seemed oddly anticlimactic. The end he meant. "Yeah you. Get up." Who did this man think he was? Soldier or not, he couldn't order around Ostdeutschland or das Königreich Preußen, whichever you wanted to call him. Needless to say he refused to move. "Get up!"

He had nothing against the man. He was young probably only doing this job because it was the best option for him at the moment. The man was one of his citizens and he had no wish to put him in any position to be in trouble but he also didn't want to move. "Why?" His voice was barely audible. Full of sadness and the emptiness of someone who had given up hope long ago.

The guard looked back down at him, sympathy showing in his eyes. "My boss wants to met you." The guard spoke with an official tone of voice.

"What happens if I don't come with you?"

"I'll have to make you." The answer wasn't anything he wasn't expecting.

"And what if I want you to shoot me?"

"I am under orders not to shoot." Was that supposed to make him feel better? A pair of hands lifted his scrawny form up. Dragging him away from the stone that was now smeared with dried patches of rusty brown.

"Your leading Ostdeutschland to its end, you know." For all outward appearances the soldier appeared to ignore him, but when the guard thought he wasn't looking, he saw him mouth something that seemed an awful lot like "I'm sorry."

_I know._ He replied within his mind. For he knew what it was like when you were forced to do something that went against everything you believed in. Images of parades, propaganda laden with swastikas and six pointed stars, and memories. Memories of the camps he wished he could forget flashed through his head. His brother's old boss had truly been sick.

The building they were approaching looked familiar. His stomach lurched when he remembered why. That was the building were he had fought tooth ans nail to get Matthew the rights to go home. And he was here again. This time for leaning against his own wall, what could they really do to him. Everyone inside knew who truly he was. As if that wasn't enough then his mind had to go remember who exactly dwelled in that building. _Dear Gott please don't make me meet him._ For that man was one of the few who scared him, and in his gut he knew it was that man who would be the end of him. Everything was that man's fault, and that man would destroy him faster than he would destroy himself. _Please! Please No!_

"Osten!" A voice exclaimed cheerfully from beyond the door. He knew that voice, and it wasn't a good thing.

* * *

><p>"You have no right to call me that!" I spat. I hated everything about this man from his cruel violet eyes that reminded me painstakingly of Birdie's, to his stupid accent to the cold air that followed him everywhere he went.<p>

"Oh but I do. Da? You see you're coming home with me." _Oh Gott, please no!_

* * *

><p>The first thing he noticed about Russia was the cold. In the air hung an icy, unfamiliar chill that made him shiver in a unpleasant combination of cold and apprehensiveness. It was November and the ground was already covered with snow. Germany was not a stranger to snow. Neither was Prussia for that matter, but they were not as acquainted with it as their northern neighbors. However snow was certainly not their friend, so went he first caught glimpse of the feet of snow piled on top of its self coating the fields in which they drove through he had good reason to be shocked. Even Matthew's stories of snow in Canada could not have prepared him for this. There was just so much of it. So much. His new surroundings were of so much shock to him, that he hardly registered that they had pulled to a house, which should have been called a mansion it was so big, and he had been shoved unceremoniously into a room. When he had joined to world at its normal pace again the first thing he could comprehend was the sound of a lock clicking closed behind the door.<p>

* * *

><p>"Stop! Just stop," I can't stand it anymore, it's tearing me apart. Why can't it just end?<p>

Those cold violet eyes and heartless laugh haunt me; haunt me when the sun is above my head and while I am trying to sleep. My fears cause me to wake up shivering in a cold sweat, screaming my lungs out. I'm falling apart, fighting to break free, I am a caged bird who longs for the sky. My people are restless too, I can feel it. I can feel the wariness, the anxiety; it's pounding in my veins.

Through the small window, in the room that has become my prison, I see an arc of light flash across the sky.

'_Make a wish.' _Elizaveta's voice rings in my head.

'_I wish I could leave this place. I wish someone would rescue me.' _It's horridly selfish, and just so unrealistic. In the time I've spent here I've come to realize how much the little things really matter. If any of my wishes were granted, they should be used on the little things I could cherish. I'm so desperate, just so desperate, what I wouldn't do for just a tiny speck of luck.

_"I wish I could see, mein bruder Ludwig, again, whoever reviews these wishes. And I would like to see the Canadian man I met a while before, as well." _

* * *

><p>Utterly insignificant, that's what he was. Just a mouse in this jungle of hate. He had given up long ago on the prospect of having his old life back. It just wasn't possible that things could go back to the way they had been, and even if they did he wouldn't be the same person anymore not after all this anyway. He excepted that he really did. If life wanted to throw all this shit at him he was just going to have to bare through it. Better him than Ludwig or Matthew, poor innocent Matthew. No! He was going to do this. If not for himself than for his Birdie, his dear little vögelchen.<p>

He was jolted out of his internal rant by the sharp rapping on the door that held him in this room.

"Prussia."

He knew that voice. Not that he knew the man well, but enough to recognize his voice. What was Lithuania doing here? Last he heard he was working for America, not Russia. "Ivan wants to see you. He says there is a man in the living room that wishes to speak with you."

"What?" He was being allowed freedom from this horrid place. Never mind that it might only be ten minutes. It was a opening to the outside world.

"Hold on a second, I'm unlocking the door." Sure enough the door swung open. The bright artificial light assaulted his eyes, blinding him.

It wasn't as if the man sitting across from him had been mean, in fact he had been very much the opposite, it was just that he was so painful to look at. Such a heart wrenching reminder of what he had lost.

Of what he had once had.

Of how far he had fallen.

In fact if he were to be fair he liked Canada. He liked how polite he was. He liked how he didn't say much, and when he did he chose his words carefully. But most of all he liked how talking with Canada was an escape. An escape from the present, and escape from his current situation. If he were being honest to himself he would have to say that the only thing he didn't like about him was how much he reminded him of Birdie. Looks and personality alike.

* * *

><p>"Hey!" Blueish purple eyes looked up and the source of the noise. "Your Canada, ja?"<p>

"I am." The response sounded so practiced but unless he was hearing things there was a little bit of surprise hidden in it to.

"I knew a Canadian once, a couple years ago perhaps it was more I don't know. Could you tell me what happened to him?"

"I can try, although I can't promise I'll know. What was his name?"

"Matthew. Matthew Williams."

* * *

><p><em>Of all the names Canada expected Gilbert to spew out of his mouth it was definitely not that one. The one that brought with it so much pain, so much anger, and so much regret. And then with out warning flashes of the new formed East Berlin over whelmed him.<em>

_A dim damp morning. A foggy chill hanging over the city. A pair of frightening red eyes and a wall. A looming wall set as a reminder to the dark future ahead of them._

_A deal. A friendship, loyal to the end. A fluttering feeling of joy, for he was finally being noticed... finally being loved, dancing in his heart._

_Regret. Sorrow. So many missed changes. So many things he could have done instead. He could have stayed. Stayed with his new friend. Stayed with East Germany. Stayed and helped. Stayed and helped keep Russe sane._

It was odd Canada had always gotten alone with Russia well, or at least better than anyone else had. Maybe it was because he never retaliated or perhaps it was simply in his weak nature. However the Canadian had another idea.

Winter. Oh cruel winter scalding with its icy breath. Drawing people into isolation, yet at the same time pulling them closer together. For all who knew him the answer was clear. Canada and Russia had both lived with winter all their lives and although it separated them from others it drew the Northern countries together. As even thought they all dealt with him differently, they could sympathize with the others who had faced the same cold bitter winds.

Canada did not want to think of the past, especially with faced with a hopeful Gilbert Beilschmidt, so he did something that had always been easy for him over the years.

He lied.

He lied just as he had when Norway had asked him about Vinland. He lied just as he had when he told England he wasn't speaking French. He lied just as he always did when America wanted forgiveness.


End file.
